To Swim for the Brighter Days
by wazlib88
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Ron feels as though he's been tossed into the middle of an ocean, and he's trying desperately not to sink. As he searches for some sort of stability in the madness surrounding himself and everyone he holds most dear, Ron learns the value of having something - or someone - to hold onto in the meantime.


A/N: Written for the eighth and final week of Ollivander's Challenge. Prompt: "You're a terrible liar." I'm quite proud of myself for having produced something for every week of this challenge, and I'm pretty happy with how this piece turned out. I hope you all find something worth reading in it :)

Also - _The Fault in Our Stars. _John Green. WOW. Read it if you haven't.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling but I sure wish I could have tea with her sometime.

* * *

Ten days. Had it really only been ten days? It felt like another lifetime, some far away reality in which things weren't simply different than they were now, but instead, entirely separate entities from the things which surrounded them today. And now, now, they were left in this strange, new world, something akin to being dropped into the middle of the open ocean without any sort of life jacket. They could tread water as best they could, but the fact of the matter was that they had yet to learn how to swim, and the shore was nowhere in sight.

Some parts of this world were nice. In this world, Ron had properly kissed Hermione four times. In this world, Harry's life was no longer shaped by the continued existence of the most powerful Dark wizard in recent memory. But this world had no Remus, no Tonks, no Colin - no _Fred._ It felt as though the universe was reminding them that nothing came without a cost, but it wasn't fair. Why should the universe or the powers that be or whatever else take away those people in exchange for some semblance of peace? Why should they have had to fight for peace at all? It seemed like an oxymoron to Ron, and he wished more than anything that there was some way to shout at the universe for its stupid irony without looking like a madman.

The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione had spent the better part of the last ten days either preparing for funerals or attending them. Well, it was wrong to call it the better part - just the most overwhelming part. Ron supposed this was something they had to do before they could move on or whatever else was supposed to be the next step. They had to put the old world to rest to try to forge this new one. But _try_ was the key word, and things seemed to be happening at a glacial pace. No one knew where to begin - no one knew how to swim to shore, and to Ron, it seemed that no one particularly wanted to learn how just yet.

On this tenth day Post-Battle, as Ron was referring to it in his mind, he, Harry, and Hermione had made their way back to Hogwarts to aid Professor McGonagall in the clean-up efforts. It was one small way they knew they could help, by clearing up the rubble left behind by the battle that had taken so much more than just the castle's walls. Still, even rebuilding felt as though they were putting a bandage on a wound that needed some sort of transformative operation to be anything near what it once had been. Ron supposed that was part of the reason he couldn't bear to go near the corridor he would always associate with his late brother - the memories of what they'd lost couldn't be covered up, no matter how much they tried to repair what had been broken.

They'd returned to the Burrow in the evening, by which time Mum had prepared a lovely dinner for everyone. Though Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Percy were no longer staying at home, they made their way over for nearly every meal. It was sort of nice, Ron thought, but it was also a daily reminder that somebody important was missing from the otherwise full table. Still, they did their best to fill the gap with just enough conversation to make them all uncomfortably aware of the fact that they were compensating for something, or rather, for some_one_.

But after dinner, everyone began to go their separate ways: Bill and Fleur retreated to Shell Cottage, though Charlie stayed behind to play a game of chess with George as Dad watched. Percy decided to help Mum with the dishes before returning to his flat, and Harry and Ginny disappeared who-knows-where to do who-knows-what. Ron was determined not to think about it.

A welcome distraction came in the form of Hermione's hand in his own. She suggested they go for a walk outside, and Ron agreed. He didn't really want to; he mostly just wanted to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, as close to sleep as he could be without _actually_ being asleep (because that way, he couldn't dream, and if he couldn't dream, he couldn't have nightmares). But at least this way, he'd get to spend some time alone with Hermione, a luxury that Ron wouldn't deny himself under any circumstances.

They didn't talk much as they made their way outside, the result of an unspoken agreement between them that they'd hold off on their conversation until they were a safe distance from the house. It was one of those things that came along with being in a relationship, Ron supposed. Their conversations felt strangely more intimate since they'd decided to be more-than-friends. It wasn't that the things they talked now about were really _that_ different than the things they had talked about before, though they were a bit more open with each other in light of the fact that they were no longer desperately trying to hide their more-than-friends-related feelings. Ron had eventually decided the shift in their relationship must have been one of those Post-Battle things he couldn't really explain. Luckily, this one was a pleasant adjustment to make.

They stopped to sit underneath a tree several hundred meters from the main house, where they would be just out of the occupants' sight in the dim evening light. Hermione let out a great sigh as she stretched her legs and leaned back against the trunk of the tree, and Ron adjusted so his position that their shoulders were brushing. He'd been shying away from physical contact lately, after the obscene amount of hugging that had gone on during the Week of Funerals, as he was calling it in his mind, yet he never shied away from a chance to touch Hermione somehow. The difference was that with everyone else, the contact was a sign of what they'd lost, and with Hermione, it was a reminder of what they'd won - because they had won, in spite of everything. Ron only wished they didn't have to constantly remind themselves of it.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked Hermione abruptly when he realized they still hadn't spoken since leaving the house. She was wearing a pensive expression, and Ron wanted to bring her far-away eyes back to Earth - well, to him, mostly. He always had been a bit selfish, after all.

It seemed to take Hermione a moment to realize he had spoken, but eventually, she turned to look at him and replied, "Yes."

Ron chuckled humorlessly. "You're a terrible liar."

"No, I'm not," Hermione protested, frowning slightly.

Ron simply looked at her. She was right, he supposed - she had successfully lied many times in the seven years he'd known her, though he knew she didn't like to do it unless it was out of necessity. But he could always tell when she was lying, and this time was no exception.

"I'm no worse off than you are," Hermione insisted, when Ron didn't take his eyes off of her.

"Well, I'm pretty fucked up at the moment," Ron said frankly, almost surprised by his own honesty.

Surprisingly, Hermione didn't scold him for his language. She didn't respond at all, really, save for averting her gaze down toward her sandal-covered feet.

After a silence that felt like a short eternity, Hermione finally spoke, very softly: "I miss my parents."

"Oh, Hermione," Ron said sadly, intertwining their fingers so as to offer some sort of comfort.

"It feels stupid," Hermione continued, her eyes now trained on their joined hands.

"Why?" Ron asked, not trusting himself to say anything else.

"At least my parents are alive! I mean, I miss Fred and the rest, we all do, and they're not coming back. It doesn't feel right to be sad about people that can," Hermione said carefully.

Ron didn't know what to say, so he released her hand from his so he could wrap his arm around her shoulder and squeeze her gently into his side. "S'not stupid," he managed.

"Doesn't stop it from feeling that way," Hermione replied dubiously.

Ron nodded and leaned his head against hers. He figured it must be like the way he'd felt two nights ago, when he couldn't wipe the grin off his face after he'd kissed Hermione good night. It had felt wrong to be so happy. It wasn't, of course - they'd fought a war to win their happiness - but that didn't stop him from feeling just a bit uneasy, to be so happy about a _girl_ in the face of all that had happened. The only consolation he'd been able to give himself was that it wasn't just a girl - it was Hermione.

"I'm going to Australia," Hermione declared suddenly. "As soon as it's safe enough, that is."

"I'll go with you," Ron replied automatically.

"You don't have to-"

"But you know I will anyway, so you might as well not start a row about it," Ron finished.

Hermione was quiet then, and Ron lifted his head from hers so that he could look at her. The far-away expression had returned to her eyes, so Ron nudged her and met her gaze imploringly.

"You can tell me things, you know," he reminded her. He reckoned that was part of what being a proper boyfriend in a real relationship was all about, after all.

"I know," Hermione said, a bit of reassurance in her tone.

"So," Ron prompted, nudging her again.

"I just - I don't want to be a bother, and I don't want to take you away from your family. You've got so much else going on," Hermione admitted hesitantly.

"You'll never be a bother," Ron said fiercely. "I'm not gonna be okay unless you are, you know."

Hermione offered him a half-smile. "Have we already reached that level of codependency?"

"I'm afraid so," Ron said with a great sigh. "Give us a year, and we'll be one of those couples that calls each other 'sweetheart' all the time and cries if they're separated for more than an hour."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Surely we can come up with better pet names than 'sweetheart.'"

"Honey-muffin?" Ron suggested.

Hermione giggled a little. "Boo-bear."

"Baby-cakes."

"Monkey-poo."

"My 'Mione sugar princess," Ron said, and Hermione collapsed into laughter.

"My Ronnie sugar daddy," she managed to choke out, and then Ron lost it too. Together, they laughed harder than they had in weeks, possibly months. It felt almost impossibly good to let go of some of the tension that had been in the pit of his stomach for as long as he could remember.

"So no pet names, then," Ron said as their laughter began to subside.

"No pet names," Hermione agreed, settling her head on his shoulder.

"Good. It's important we establish some ground rules early," Ron said wisely.

"What else do you suppose we ought to establish?" Hermione asked in a tone that was very nearly suggestive, and Ron couldn't help but think that only she would be able to make rules sound flirtatious.

"You should always give me the leftovers when Mum inevitably tries to overfeed you," Ron declared with a grin. They could all stand to gain some weight, of course, but there was only so much they could feasibly eat in one sitting, and Ron could manage much more than Hermione could.

"Naturally," Hermione agreed, "so long as you let me drag you along to Flourish and Blotts every time we're in Diagon Alley."

"The things I do for you, woman," Ron said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Am I worth it?" Hermione teased, though Ron could sense something else in her tone, which is why he answered seriously:

"Of course you are."

"So are you," Hermione replied immediately, lifting her head to kiss him on the cheek.

"I've got another rule," Ron said, shifting so that they could look at each other properly.

"What's that?" Hermione asked with a small smile.

"We've got to tell each other what we're thinking," Ron said seriously. "Even if we think it's stupid."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, we do."

Ron looked at her expectantly, and she sighed in something that was almost like defeat.

"I'm still having nightmares," she told him in a very small voice.

"So am I," Ron replied, squeezing her around the shoulders again as a way of reminding her that it was okay not to be okay, without the messy business tripping over his words.

"I hate feeling like everything's wrong," Hermione continued. "It really shouldn't be."

"But it still is," Ron finished. He understood that she didn't mean _everything_ was wrong, not literally; it was just for the moment, that the wrong things seemed infinitely bigger than the things that were right. It was all a part of being stranded at sea in a world that was unfamiliar from anything they'd ever encountered. It was going to take awhile to grow accustomed to their new reality, because the fact that nobody had a clue where the shore was seemed so much more pressing and significant than anything else, and it probably would be that way for some time. The worst part, Ron figured, was that there really wasn't much they could do about it, other than to continue trying to float or swim and hoping that eventually they'd find their way.

"You were right," Hermione said quietly with a small sigh. "We really are fucked up."

Ron widened his eyes and felt his jaw drop. "Hermione Granger, did you just use a rude word?"

"It seemed appropriate," Hermione said shortly, almost wearily. "Don't expect a repeat performance."

"Do you know how to get a hold of a Pensieve?" Ron asked seriously. "I want to replay this moment over and over and over-"

Hermione pinched him lightly on the arm before bringing a hand up to his face to tilt it toward hers. "We'll be okay," she said confidently.

"I know," Ron replied. "Just not now."

"No," Hermione confirmed sadly, because there was really no point in lying or sugarcoating it. They knew each other too well for that. "Not now."

Ron didn't know what else to say, so he leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth, relishing the feeling of her warm lips moving against his. A minute later and entirely too soon, she pulled back and looked him in the eye.

"Thank you," she said, almost reverently, as though this was somehow the most important thing she'd ever said in an entire lifetime of saying brilliant things.

"What for?" Ron asked bemusedly, his mind virtually clear of anything other than thoughts of kissing her again.

"Being you," Hermione replied with a small smile.

"Oh," Ron said, blinking once. "I'm not that great, really."

"But you are," Hermione insisted. "You're my best friend, Ron, you've always been."

"Not Harry?" Ron asked in spite of himself.

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. "Harry, too, but it's different with you. It's just that - I think it's that you and I don't have to be everybody's hero."

Ron nodded in understanding and leaned his forehead against hers. "Same to you, you know."

Hermione smiled and leaned a little closer in response. "You make me happy," she murmured against his lips. "In spite of everything else, you make me happier than I can remember being in so long."

"I know the feeling," Ron replied, his voice lower than he knew he could make it. It was as though he was trying to make sure the words were only for her, even given their distance from everyone else. "It's me and you now, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hermione replied. "You don't mind being stuck with me, do you?"

"S'long as you don't mind being stuck with me," Ron murmured, and then he kissed her again, this time a little more purposefully than before, trying to tell her everything without saying it . He was so incredibly and madly in love with her. He supposed he'd have to tell her properly sometime, and probably soon. But for now, he was confident that she knew well enough, and by some miracle, he knew that she felt the same way.

As Ron shared his sixth kiss with Hermione, underneath the stars and against an old tree stump, he was met with the fleeting thought that perhaps, being stuck in the middle of the bloody ocean wasn't so bad if he had her to hold on to. He was beginning to understand more and more clearly that she was what kept him afloat, and he was going to try his damnedest to do the same for her. They would be okay, and they would be the best kind of okay - they would be okay together.

* * *

A/N: Yet another post-war fic. I hope it was enjoyable. I quite like how it turned out, to be honest, which is a nice feeling. By the way - some nice "water metaphor" songs include "Swim" by Jack's Mannequin and "Swallowed in the Sea" by Coldplay. Thank you for reading. :)


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